I hope I die in summer

on a humid night
when the grass is yawning and stretching out
toward the moon,

and the frogs are croaking on
like a chorus of metronomes
as the last curls of life wisp away from my body,

a final reminder
that things and time
will continue beautifully,

harmoniously,

without me.

blooming
like wet ink
across the sheets-
it spread
like a sigh:
slowly

These words; they
tumble down into
strings and strings of spaghetti
and loop over here and there

They run around
and run amok
and
I see them everywhere

The playground is getting dark
It's almost time to go
But finally I smile and lean my head back
And then I go and swing some more

I dangle from my neck
Swinging to and fro
Isn't this playground lovely?
I laugh and swing myself some more

I tighten the rope a little
There's still a short while to go
But better safe than happy
So off the shaky seat I go
Swinging to and fro

I hang from my rope
There's nothing left at all
There's a smile on my face
As you watch me
Swinging to and fro